Of Puns and Percussion
by snapsandprongsforever
Summary: Courferre marching band AU where a saxist has been in love with a percussionist for years but won't do anything about it.


The noise surrounding him was deafening. The problem with putting so many hyperactive wind instruments in the same room as the percussionists is that they usually engaged in several variations of the Who Can Play The Loudest Game. The rules were slightly self-explanatory, which was necessary because you couldn't usually hear anyone who would attempt to actually explain the surprisingly simple concept of the game and the fact that there weren't actually any rules to this game. Or a winner. Or a point, really.

Combeferre escaped the noise that crowded him in, ducking out into the cool night air, feeling the beads of sweat at the back of his neck dry instantly. He leaned his back against the rough brick of the building, enjoying the slight dig of pain as he sunk back into a protruding. He closed his eyes, tipping his head back as he let his saxophone rest against his body, seeping out warmth slowly as it adjusted to the cooler temperature. It was at moments like these when Combeferre understood why Grantaire and Eponine enjoyed their cigarettes in silence, the relaxing pull and drag of smoke and complete stillness of body and mind. He felt himself unwind after the long hours of rehearsal and studying. He opened his eyes, finding the Big Dipper hanging in the sky and smiled softly at the fireflies he could see glinting in the park across the street.

"Well aren't you as pretty as a picture." Courfeyrac's voice cut through Combeferre's oblivion and he startled, jerking up from the wall and grunting in surprise as his saxophone hit his chest. Courfeyrac was leaning against the door, his lithe frame at ease and drumsticks dangling lightly from his hand. His curly hair hid his eyes, but Combeferre's heart pulled at the sight of the single dimple resting on the right side of his full, smiling lips.

"Courfeyrac. You surprised me," Combeferre's voice sounded hoarse and strangled and he winced at the sound. He noticed his palms were sweating despite the chill in the air. He quickly put them in his pockets in what he hoped was a nonchalant gesture. Courfeyrac just grinned wider, his dimple deepening and his white teeth flashing in the dark. He came and stood by Combeferre, their arms brushing as he leaned back against the wall. Combeferre hoped that he didn't feel the shiver that ran down Combeferre's spine. He tried to be subtle about breathing in Courfeyrac's earthy smell, closing his eyes against the wave of emotion in his throat.

Combeferre had always been in love with Courfeyrac. In hindsight, there was never a moment that Combeferre could remember not loving Courfeyrac. He had _realized_ that he was in love two years ago. It hadn't been anything special; it had been an ordinary moment. Combeferre remembers the way Courfeyrac had grinned at him across the room as they ran through their patterns during a practice, his curls ruffled, his hazel eyes dancing and that _damned_ dimple, and Combeferre felt his stomach drop and _oh_. All the pieces fell into place and it was so startlingly clear he wondered why he hadn't seen it before. After that, there had been no turning back. He felt hyper aware of Courfeyrac's presence, the brush of their fingers, when Courfeyrac ruffled his hair or bumped their shoulders. It also made him aware of Courfeyrac's dating life, something he had never paid attention to before. Every time Courfeyrac talked about his newest love interest, or held hands with someone in the hallways, or when he went to the dance with someone and Combeferre was left with Enjolras and his pitying eyes, Courfeyrac felt another fracture run across his heart. When Courfeyrac lost his virginity and bragged it up for a week, Combeferre called in sick for the first time in his entire life and ignored Courfeyrac's increasingly worried texts.

In short, he was desperately in love with his best friend, who didn't take relationships too seriously, crushing on someone one week, dating someone else two weeks later. Admittedly, he had been single for quite a while now, which was a surprise, but it was probably because he had started to run out of people to date. Combeferre tried not to dwell on the impossibility of receiving anything more from Courfeyrac, and attempted to accept the crumbs of affection he got. Courfeyrac was a very loving person, so he ended up getting quite a lot of crumbs, but it always left him wanting more. His favorite stolen memory was when he had to take a drunk Courfeyrac home one night and he had been most thoroughly groped. Courfeyrac hadn't remembered anything the next day and Combeferre didn't know if he was relieved and disappointed, so he ignored it, sealing that memory tightly in the back of his brain. Even now as they were standing in a peaceful silence, Combeferre was wondering what would happen if he reached for Courfeyrac's hand or leaned his head on the shoulder that was inches away from him.

Courfeyrac shifted, straightening slightly and Combeferre felt the way Courfeyrac's body tensed up. Combeferre's heart sank. He _knew_. But how? He's been so careful about everything. What had he done to give himself away? He heard Courfeyrac's deep inhale, a sure sign that he was broaching a serious topic, that he was a little nervous. Combeferre could almost feel Courfeyrac's hands trembling. Courfeyrac would be kind, he would be funny, he would use innuendoes, but he would reject him and their friendship would be ruined. And Combeferre wouldn't be able to do anything but love him for it.

"Combeferre?" Courfeyrac's tone was nonchalant, but Combeferre was well-versed in the ways of Courfeyrac. His voice was slightly higher pitched, betraying his nervousness.

"Mmhmm?" Combeferre didn't trust his voice, he could a lump rising in his throat.

"You're so saxy when you play the sax." Courfeyrac's voice was tinged with amusement and the pick up line was like a punch to the gut, though he enjoyed the pun. Was Courfeyrac toying with his feelings? He wouldn't be that cruel.

"Courfeyrac-" Combeferre warned, but Courfeyrac plowed forwards, cutting off Combeferre before he could finish his slightly wavering words.

"Look, Ferre, I know we have been friends for a long time and you have never shown romantic interest in anyone. And recently, I've been thinking about our friendship and I realized something. I don't love you like a friend. I love you like a boyfriend. I think of you all the time, and how you do that scrunchy thing with your nose to push up your glasses and you wear sweater that you roll up to show your forearms and that shouldn't be hot, but it does things to me, and I have to stop myself from reaching for your hand or kissing your nose when you give me your Combe-glare. I just thought you should know because we are friends and I can tell you everything and I didn't want to keep you in the dark. I know I'm going out on a limb, but I'm losing courage pretty fast here because you're staring at me, but I'd really like to go out with you as your boyfriend. But if you don't want to, that's fine, I understand, I wouldn't want to date me either, I mean look at my track record, it's not all that great and I am a little corny at times and-"

He was cut off by a pair of slightly chapped lips. Combeferre grabbed Courfeyrac's shirt, pulling him close and breathed in the scent of rain and pine and put all he had into the kiss. Yes. Yes. Yes. _Yes_. His heart beat against Courfeyrac's chest and he could feel Courfeyrac's beating against his, almost in time and he cured a hand up into the silky curls, moaning slightly as Courfeyrac grabbed his hip, pulling him closer, pushing the sax out of the way awkwardly, with fumbling fingers. Courfeyrac took advantage of the moan to slide his soft tongue into Combeferre's mouth, and it was so much better than he ever imagined it could be. Courfeyrac tasted slightly like chocolate from the package of M&M's they had share a mere hour ago and overwhelmingly like _Courfeyrac_. He distantly heard the clatter of the drumsticks on the ground as Courfeyrac wrapped his arms around Combeferre's waist and he felt dizzy, glad for this wall because he felt like his legs were going to give out at the giddy high that swirled through him.

Combeferre didn't know who pulled back first, but they found themselves breathing heavily, gazing into each others eyes and grinning like the idiots that they were. Combeferre couldn't believe that Courfeyrac's lips were slick from kissing _him_, that his hands had been the ones to dishevel the curls that he had always wanted to touch. His heart was in his throat and if he weren't lying to himself, he would admit to a slight wetness in the eyes.

"I've been waiting _years_, Courf," Combeferre whispered, slightly accusatorially, but the words burst out before he could stem them.

Courfeyrac had the decency to lower his eyes, before whispering "I think I have too."

Glee flooded Combeferre and he let his fingers trace Courfeyrac's lips lightly before regretfully pulling himself back. "As lovely as that was, I do believe that we should back to practice and run through the formations one last time."

Courfeyrac snorted with slightly exasperated laughter. "Of course. We wouldn't want to miss out. You're such a nerd."

Combeferre laughed, bending to retrieve the fallen drumsticks and rapping Courfeyrac's chest with them. "Yes, but I'm a nerd that wants to bang you."

Courfeyrac's eyes widened in abject horror. "Was that a pun?"

Combeferre smirked and leaned in once more, smiling into Courfeyrac's lips.


End file.
